Fragments
by gingergingertea
Summary: “Unrequited love! How…icky.” Tamaki exclaimed, waving a hand dismissively. Kyouya simply adjusted his glasses, fragments of what could have been a bitter smile tracing across his lips. one-sided kyotama, oneshot


**Disclaimer: **Not mine, not yours…let's write angst!

**Summary:** "Unrequited love! How…icky." Tamaki exclaimed, waving a hand dismissively. Kyouya simply adjusted his glasses, fragments of what could have been a bitter smile tracing across his lips. oneshot

**Pairing:** one-sided kyotama, unrequited shonen-ai

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**Fragments **

**by gingergingertea **

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"Unrequited love! How…icky." The dismissal was quick and absolute as it left the Host Club King in the form of a barely-contemplated sentence and a hasty wave of his hand. Closing his violet eyes and crossing his arms in an obvious veto of the idea, he continued airily, "Our club brings _fortune_ to girls. Broken hearts are never necessary when the Host Club is here."

He then proceeded to sniffle indignantly at the very idea.

Kyouya simply adjusted his glasses, fragments of what could have been a bitter smile tracing across his lips. Just as he had suspected. It wasn't as if anyone questioned whether he had meant anything by the two-word suggestion—in fact, the twins had already returned to their previous exclamations about golden chest-plates and damsels in distress—and he had offered it as a possible theme simply to observe his friend's reaction. But of course it hadn't even been considered. Happy endings were the _only_ endings in Tamaki's eyes.

Unreturned smiles and life-long regret didn't fit with one Suoh Tamaki at _all_.

Tamaki just wasn't meant to understand, Kyouya supposed. If he understood, that would mean that he had by some means experienced, and that was impossible on too many levels to be counted. Even by Kyouya. In fact, although no one knew better than Kyouya that Tamaki's life was far from easy, unrequited love had never entered into the equation. He was sure.

If one word could be used to describe Tamaki, "loved" was a very adequate choice.

Because, after all, who could resist him? Not all the love he received was romantic, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Tamaki received so much love from his friends…from his admirers…from the _world_, that Kyouya was quite sure he would never be lonely. He opened his arms to humankind, and received thousands of open arms in return.

Somewhere, a clock dimly chimed four, and Kyouya watched the proceedings of the club meeting with a blank face, his well-trained hand neatly recording each and every proposal without his mind processing a single one. Hikaru and Kaoru must have made a lewd suggestion sometime after he stopped paying attention, Kyouya noted with dull interest, for they were leering appreciatively at Haruhi and Tamaki was spluttering in outrage while flailing his arms.

It was almost amusing, he would have admitted if he had wanted to be honest with himself, but it made something akin to jealousy smolder deep in his gut.

Dark, bespectacled eyes watched passively as Tamaki squawked outrageously about the twins' ideas being almost as bad as the previous "unrequited love nonsense" and Haruhi quietly scolded him for "making fun of Kyouya-senpai's ideas." Yes, Kyouya knew Haruhi was a wonderful person, and he knew that Tamaki knew it too. The love between the two of them now was far from unrequited; it was simply unrealized—a fact that had taken Kyouya weeks to admit to himself, and would take him years, decades, a _lifetime_ to come to terms with.

Without a doubt in his mind he knew they would recognize it eventually, Tamaki and Haruhi, and he knew that Tamaki's reaction would be very far from burying the truth and hating himself. Someday it would pop into his blond little head at a random moment because Haruhi's eyes had been entrancingly bright in the Third Music Room for a golden instant, or because a sweet smile had curled her lips for a few moments. And as soon as he realized it, Tamaki would probably jump onto a table to proclaim his feelings, or would compose a song on the spot and sing to her (while accompanying himself on the piano) about the place that she held in his heart.

That was something Tamaki would do. And no one would be the least bit surprised. Especially not Kyouya.

He would smile indulgently—no, not bitterly, never bitterly—, adjust his glasses, and return to his laptop…because that was all he really _could_ do, wasn't it? And he certainly didn't want Tamaki to become trapped in the rut that he himself was currently in up to his eyebrows. A happy Tamaki was the only natural Tamaki, and, the way things were going, that happiness would be preserved. Kyouya was certain that that radiant smile would be in place when Haruhi accepted his feelings, when she said "I do" a few years later, and when the two of them finally gazed down at their first newborn child. It would be perfect, really, and Kyouya foresaw every snapshot of this gleaming future that the two would have. Without him.

Because Tamaki really was horribly predictable.

The Host Club King was now in a corner, holding his knees to his chest and mumbling despondently as Hikaru slung an arm around Haruhi and Kaoru whispered something in her ear that made her look up at him questioningly. Everything was as it should have been in the Third Music Room, and Kyouya had anticipated every second of it at least a week ago. As an afterthought, a glance at his watch informed him that, by his calculations, Tamaki would realize his feelings for Haruhi in six months, three days, four hours, and twenty-seven minutes. And one week, fourteen hours, and fifty-three minutes after that, she would agree to go to a nice restaurant with him and the rest would be history.

Tamaki—beautiful, dramatic Tamaki—would never be confused, never hesitate, never question how he felt or why it had happened; it would be a clear, easy shot all the way to the end…and beyond.

Yes, one-way dreams would never be Tamaki's style. He would never be trapped into that little box of expectations the world forced him into, clawing at its rough walls with desperation. Tamaki would never try to escape until his metaphorical eyes were swollen shut with the tears of someday turning into never—Tamaki would never scream until his throat was raw with fate and would never scrabble at the unyielding surface of destiny until his knuckles were splintering and his fingertips were bleeding broken dreams.

No, such would never be the fate of one Suoh Tamaki.

But, mused Kyouya, there were some people that unrequited love was simply made to fit.

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end


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